Loosening My Grip

"Good golf begins with a good grip."

— Ben Hogan

A simple lesson from one of golf's greatest champions and most respected teachers. And like many good lessons, I thought I understood it long before I actually understood it.

Having a good golf grip seems obvious enough. To exert maximum control over a club, we must grip it tightly. If we want the ball to go where intended, then we must ensure the club cannot move around in our hands. Afterall, the club is a tool and it ought to be handled as most tools—firm in hand. Right?

Most tools reward a firm grip—think a hammer, shovel, or wrench. Safely using these tools to maximum effect demands a tight hold.

The golf club, however, appears to operate by a different set of rules:

• Rigidity creates tension,
• Tension undermines control, and
• Control comes through fluidity, not force.

I've began experimenting with a lighter grip, and to my surprise, the results were almost immediate. Chips became more consistent. Tempo improved. The club felt less like a tool needing to be forced into submission and more like an extension of the body that worked in rhythm with it.

The harder I tried to control the club, the worse it performed. The more I relaxed and trusted the process, the better the results became.

Eventually, every golfer discovers this counterintuitive truth:

A secure grip and a tight grip are not the same thing.

Lately I've been wondering whether the same is true in life.

Looking back on difficult periods in my own life, I've noticed a pattern. Whenever I feel threatened, uncertain, hurt, afraid, or powerless, my instinct is almost always the same: tighten the grip!

Perhaps you have seen this pattern too? When confronted with adversity, we find ourselves gripping tighter to:

• Outcomes
• Reputations
• Expectations
• Loved ones
• Opinions
• Perceptions
• Vindications

Why? What motivates us to clasp so desperately?  

We rarely tighten our grip because we don't care. Quite the opposite. We tighten our grip because something matters deeply to us. The tighter the grip, the greater the perceived threat. Fear, uncertainty, loss, injustice, grief, disappointment—all of these tempt us to squeeze harder in an desperate effort to regain control.

But our desperation only creates tension. Tension undermines control. The loss of control then feeds our fear, convincing us that we must try harder, push harder, grip harder. What we fail to recognize is that the very thing we are doing to solve the problem is often the thing making it worse.

Taking a step back here, we can see a great irony:

Even if tightening our grip worked, many of the things we worry about are not really ours to control.

Life itself cannot be held tightly, be it our own or the ones we hold most dear. When someone dies unexpectedly, we discover something terrifying: No amount of planning prevents loss. No amount of effort guarantees tomorrow.

When my dear brother passed away, in my grief I experienced what I think is the most natural response:

"I need to hold tighter to everything else."

But perhaps grief teaches the opposite. Perhaps grief teaches us to cherish without clutching. To love deeply without trying to possess. To appreciate what is here today because tomorrow is never promised.

We cannot control other people's choices. We cannot control what others think of us. We cannot control the economy, tragedy, illness, betrayal, or the countless other circumstances that shape our lives. We do not choose whether these things will happen, and we certainly do not choose whether they will hurt us. 

What, then, remains?

More than we might think.

• We control our character.
• We control our actions.
• We control our effort.
• We control our response.
• We control where we place our attention and energy.

In other words, we control our grip.

The question is not whether we will hold on. The question is how.

"Slammin' Sam" Snead was one of the most prolific golfers of his generation. He became known for effortless power, exceptional accuracy, and perhaps the smoothest swing the game has ever seen.

Watching him drive a golf ball over 300 yards, one might reasonably assume Snead's secret was strength—a firm grip, powerful hands, and an iron hold on the club. Yet Snead's advice was surprisingly gentle:

"Hold the club as if you were holding a baby bird."

Not grasping. Not clinging. Not choking.

Secure enough that it doesn't fly away.

Gentle enough that it doesn't get crushed.

It is important to note that a looser grip is not the same thing as no grip. Just as excessive force creates tension, insufficient force creates neglect.

Wisdom lies somewhere between the two—to hold on with just enough pressure to guide what is yours to guide, while resisting the urge to control what cannot be controlled.

In the days that lie before me, I hope to lean more on the timeless wisdom found in Ben Hogan's instruction:

"Good [living] begins with a good grip."

Hold on tightly to principle, duty, and virtue.

Hold lightly to outcomes, expectations, and reputation.

Wisdom lies in knowing the difference.

Charity Never Faileth

Let me take you back to my early high school years — a time when personal hygiene often makes or breaks your social life.

The locker next to mine belonged to a guy named John. Now John (like many adolescent boys) maintained a on-again-off-again relationship with personal hygiene. That relationship seemed to dissolve entirely one spring when I noticed a rotten smell emerging from the lockers. Over the course of a few days, this pervasive smell followed us throughout the halls, into class, and even to practice after school. It was a daily nuisance.

John, meanwhile, approached each day with denial and indifference—even when other students mocked him. I never openly ridiculed John, but I was content to let other's poke fun at him. I thought, perhaps, that a little social discomfort would motivate him to wake up and smell the proverbial roses. But John remained oblivious. It seemed as though the only thing that would clear the air was some divinely inspired self-awareness.

That divine intervention arrived one afternoon after school. Coming off the bus, I crossed paths with the appliance technician who was visiting to fix our clothes dryer. He looked pale and distressed. I found Mom standing on the porch with the same queasy looking expression.

"What happened here?" I asked.

Mom took a breath for composure, then explained how they fixed the dryer. Reaching deep inside the dryer's ventilation, the repairman discovered a blockage. At some point, during the harsh winter months, a desperate packrat climbed into the warm exhaust pipe... and he never made it back out.

The repairman estimated that the packrat had been stewing in the exhaust for at least 3-4 weeks. For those of you who don't do your own laundry, that translates to approximately 30-40 laundry cycles—each load infused with the potent scent of mildly-mummified packrat.

This was the decisive moment of self-awareness that I requested. The very next day, the smells of decomposing rat had been neutralized, and John's dignity had been reclaimed.

1. CHARITY DOES NOT REQUIRE AGREEMENT. IT REQUIRES HUMILITY.

Brother's and sisters, how often do we make this same mistake? How often do we draw conclusions about someone based on what they believe? What they look like? What they smell like?

When I reflect on this experience today, I recognize something interesting:

I wasn't cruel.

I wasn't malicious.

But I was certain.

This type of certainty undermines the most fundamental acts of charity—namely showing humility and consideration.

In other words, this is the start of all charity: that we admit that we may not yet see the whole picture.

It’s easy to show charity to people who think like we think and live like we live. But when there’s friction, when there’s difference, or when something smells off—this is when our charity actually means something.

2. CHRIST AS THE PATTERN

Scripture defines charity as the "Pure love of Christ"

This begs the question: How do we show pure love to imperfect people?

The answer is found in the example of Jesus:

• In Gethsemane, in the midst of betrayal and violence, Jesus healed the ear of of a man who had come to arrest Him.

• In a culture where reputation mattered deeply, Jesus openly dined with sinners and tax collectors—the social outcasts of that time.

• When a sanctimonious crowd presented a woman taken in adultery, Jesus disarmed them with wisdom and restraint.

• Having endured humiliation, torture, and injustice, Jesus frankly forgave the men who had placed Him on the cross to die in agony.

During His earthly ministry, Jesus never endorsed injustice or excused wrongdoing. He demonstrated that pure love is always anchored in patience, truth, and discernment. Yes, Christ showed a great deal of compassion, but in doing so He showed strength and restraint—not weakness and acquiescence.

This is a stark contrast with modern thought, which often conflates charity with reflexive sympathy—or the compulsive urge to always rescue, always defend, and always remedy. But true charity seeks what is ultimately redemptive, even when that means allowing room for growth, accountability, or consequence.

5. CHARITY NEVER FAILETH

It is said that charity never faileth. 

But... it is not uncommon for charity to be met with rejection, contempt, or hostility. If charity never fails, then why don't people change? Why don't they soften their hearts? Why do they respond to kindness with cruelty?

There may be times when we conclude that charity... sometimes faileth. In those moments, we must remember:

- Charity does not depend on outcomes.

- Charity does not require reciprocity.

- Charity does not demand compliance.

We cannot measure charity by the amount suffering it eliminates or by the number of people who accept it graciously. Charity will not always change the world around us. But it will always change the soul of those who extend it to others.

Jesus asks us to do more than "be kind". He asks that we love one another... as He has loved us.

Those who accept this invitation become resilient when provoked and steady when misunderstood.

This is why charity never faileth.